


True

by animehead



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:51:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animehead/pseuds/animehead
Summary: Viktor is spoiled, and Yuuri is his enabler.





	

Droplets of sweat drip from the ends of his hair. They roll down his neck, beneath his shirt collar, following the path along his spine. He’s used to the feeling. But that doesn’t mean he enjoys it, especially when he’s already finished practicing for the day.

Yuuri watches as a group of teenage girls began to file onto the ice, all holding hands and giggling. Briefly, he thinks about his own teenage years, frowning at the memories of puberty, and other general, teenage awkwardness.

So many posters of Viktor.

“That’s an interesting look,” a voice purrs into his ear.

It’s a familiar voice. One he’s heard so many times. And yet, he’s still incapable of describing the sound of it. Or how it makes him feel. It reminds him of fingers gliding along a velvet rope. Of satin brushing against his cheek, or silk along his skin. It’s a feather tickling his ear. Or the sweetest, most decadent chocolate melting on his tongue.

“Viktor.” It’s unnecessary for Yuuri to say his name, but he does it anyway. He loves speaking Viktor’s name, loves the resulting tingle down his spine each time it flows from his lips.

“What thoughts would cause such an expression, I wonder.” Viktor leans against him, the warmth of his body adding to the already uncomfortable heat that came from dressing in layers. “You’ll tell me. Won’t you, Yuuri?” His lips brush Yuuri’s ears, as soft and gentle as a whisper.

Yuuri reaches up, nudging Viktor away. “I’m sweaty.”

“Mm, I suppose you are,” Viktor agrees, but makes no move to create any distance between the two of them. Instead, he moves forward, pressing himself against Yuuri until Yuuri has no choice but to lean his back against the barrier behind him, trapping him between Viktor, and the wall.

“V-Viktor.” Yuuri grips at Viktor’s arms, fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeves. “What are you doing? Not _here_.”

“But we have before. In the bathroom. Do you remember?”

What kind of question was that? Of course he _remembered_. Having sex in a skating rink bathroom with Viktor Nikiforov wasn’t something one forgot.

“That was _one_ time.”

“Then we’ll make it two.”

Although, the thought was tempting, Yuuri shook his head. “You’ll just have to wait.”

“For how long?” Viktor asked, the normally seductive tone of his voice replaced with the whine of a man who was used to getting what he wanted.

“After I shower,” Yuuri answered, stepping forward and forcing Viktor to step back. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he loved knowing that he was capable of having this type of effect on Viktor. That Viktor wanted him so badly that he would willingly make love to him in a bathroom stall.

“I won’t wait a second longer.” Viktor was teasing, of course. But there was a warning laced within those words, one that forced a shiver of anticipation down Yuuri’s spine.

***

Warm water rolling down his skin felt a hundred times better than sweat. He’d already washed, scrubbing off the morning’s perspiration, and banishing it down the drain. Now he was just enjoying the water, letting the spray of wet heat massage muscles sore from exertion.

“You’re taking too long.”

He isn’t surprised when he hears Viktor’s voice over the drum of water splashing against the shower floor.

“You’re too impatient.”

The shower curtain is pulled back, inch by inch, as if he’s standing at the center of a stage, waiting for the red curtain to reveal him.

“You’ve already washed.” Viktor changes the subject. “I can smell your bath gel.”

“You have a nose like Makkach—“ His statement fizzles out and dies in his throat. He’s seen Viktor naked before. Many times. Far too many to count. But it takes his breath away each time. Everything about him is beautiful from his head down to his toes, as well as other areas of his body that Yuuri can’t seem tear his gaze away from.

He thinks about his posters again.

“Yuuri.”

His own name is a song when Viktor speaks it, soft and sweet, a melody created only for him. Not realizing he’s holding his breath, he exhales when Viktor joins him in the shower, skin smelling of expensive cologne.

Yuuri doesn’t play hard to get. Doesn’t even consider making Viktor work for it. He gives up and gives in instantly, letting his wet body be embraced by the man who didn’t steal his heart, but asked for it, and shared it with him.

Viktor’s tongue is warm, warmer than the water spraying against his skin. It travels along the shell of his ear, glides against his neck, laps at the droplets of water at his shoulder. Yuuri melts against him, gasps and whimpers at the gentle caress of slender fingers scratching along his hips.

“Not here,” he forces himself to say, and continues before Viktor can complain, “In the bedrom. On the bed.”

“But I just got in.”

“Viktor…”

“Okay.”

Yuuri smiles at how quickly Viktor concedes.

The turn off the water, and step out of the shower, barely drying off before they make their way back into the bedroom. Viktor is a jaguar, beautiful and precise, his mouth and fingers caressing Yuuri, playing his body like an instrument, coaxing him to perform. The sheets are damp from their skin, cold and clingy, but they hardly notice.

“You first, Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, mouth latched around Yuuri’s nipple, hair hanging in his face, covering one of his beautiful eyes.

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor nods and looks up at Yuuri with so much love in his eyes that it makes Yuuri’s heart ache.

“How do you want me?”

“Turn around.”

Viktor does as he’s told, eagerly and without question. Yuuri watches as he positions himself on all four, knees and elbows resting against the bed. Even as he pulls open the nightstand drawer, blindly searching for the bottle of lube stashed away inside of it, he wonders how he managed to be so lucky, so honored, so _privileged_ , to call Viktor his, and his only. To stare down at him, exposed and waiting, wanting, Yuuri inside of him.

Time passes like a gust of wind, slick palm and slippery fingers. He’s hard and aching, stiff inside of Viktor’s ass. Viktor moans for him, gasps, whimpers, and cries out. He turns his head, craning his neck so that he can gaze back at Yuuri, tears of pleasure clinging from his pale eyelashes.

The mattress squeaks, headboard rocks against the unforgiving wall. The sound of skin meeting skin drowns out both of them. It creates a song, a melody of their devotion for one another, for their desire, their need, their _love_.

“Yuuri,” Viktor moans, back arching, fingers clutching at the wet sheets, “fuck me.”

Yuuri’s thankful for the position, thankful that Viktor is facing away from him. Hearing Viktor speak like that, _beg_ like that, while staring down at him would have been too much for him to handle.

Viktor rocks against him, meeting each of his thrusts, long torso and curled toes, and Yuuri can’t take it anymore. He has to stop.

“Viktor,” Yuuri breathes out, one hand settled at the small of Viktor’s back, fingertips gently digging into warm skin and firm muscle. “Let’s switch.”

Viktor nods, murmurs as soft, “okay,” around ragged gasps of breath. He gasps again when Yuuri slowly pulls out, his body immediately longing for their connection once more. He flips onto his back as graceful as ever, already greedily reaching up for Yuuri the moment he’s settled against the mattress. Yuuri straddles him, waits and watches as Viktor massaging his cock with lube, fingers like a pianist, beautiful and elegant. One he’s finished, he guides Yuuri down, inch by inch, so slow that it’s almost painful. But then Viktor is fully inside of him, and nothing matters anymore.

Other than his hands gripping at Yuuri’s waist, Viktor gives him total control, lets Yuuri decide the pace, the angle, and whatever else he chooses. He becomes a servant to Yuuri’s desires, a tool for his pleasure, to be called on and used whenever and wherever needed. Yuuri thinks, judging by the look of pure, rapturous pleasure on his face, he has no qualms with this.

Viktor moves one hand away from Yuuri’s hip, and to his cock, stroking him, expertly following whatever rhythm Yuuri creates. When Yuuri can no longer stand the sounds of his own cries erupting from his lips, he leans down and forces them down Viktor’s throat, drowning him in a sea of passionate kisses.

Viktor hasn’t let go of him, refuses to, even when Yuuri begs him, tells him he’s too close, tries in vain to pull away so he doesn’t come first. He has more stamina than Viktor, which means he never hears then ends of it when Viktor lasts longer than he does.

It’s not fair, he thinks, even as he’s moaning out his release, coming between their joined bodies, so powerfully that his muscles stiffen and his vision goes black. He hears Viktor below him, murmuring encouraging words, voice sweet and soothing, like a spoonful of honey.

Somewhere, somehow, he still hears Viktor speaking to him, even when he’s gone limp and boneless, panting against a pale shoulder. He gladly relinquishes control, willingly gives Viktor power over him. Viktor rocks up and into him, fucking his spent body, pressing his sticky fingers against Yuuri’s hips and forcing him down. He moans Yuuri’s name, over and over again, like a mantra, a spell, cast by perfect lips.

Yuuri’s energy is gone, but he forces himself to look at Viktor anyway. Wants to watch him as he comes, and comes undone, head thrown back in a fit of passion, lips parted, and eyes closed. He drinks up Viktor’s expression, swallows down his unadulterated bliss. He feels Viktor inside of him, both his cock and his come, filling him up, intoxicating him with the rarest of loves— _true_.

Seconds blend into minutes. They rest together, Yuuri’s head placed against Viktor’s chest, listening to his heart beat.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, his arms gingerly gliding up and down Yuuri’s back.

“Viktor,” Yuuri replies, lips pressing butterfly kisses along Viktor’s collarbone.

Two names. Yet somehow they manage to mean three separate—needlessly unspoken—words.

_I love you._


End file.
